


Cornflower

by Holly_and_Ivy



Series: The King's Return [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Arthur is sad, Gen, Merlin is kinda rude but he's also sad, Modern Era, POV Arthur, Post-Magic Reveal, Survivor Guilt, angsty, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22769434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holly_and_Ivy/pseuds/Holly_and_Ivy
Summary: “I was running from you in every way possible. Does that make you happy, hearing the truth? The truth that your friend is an absolute coward, like you said,” Merlin’s voice cracks, tears pushing their way through his throat. Arthur takes a few steps forward so he’s standing next to Merlin, but Merlin doesn’t look toward him. He keeps his eyes down on the grain of the table.Arthur falters, “I never said-““Yes, you did, and you were right,”Takes place after my other story 'Eyes'. Arthur is back, and everything is good. At least, it should be. Merlin seems to want nothing to do with Arthur. He keeps Arthur around but doesn't talk to him, or explain anything. Arthur is upset.Merlin may have thought he healed, but you don't heal in just one night after a thousand years of pain.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: The King's Return [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637053
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Cornflower

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really proud of this one. Like I tried new writing techniques and I feel like this one has helped me grow a bit. I just want y'all to know that I love this show and these characters, but I also love just the mystical feeling that the whole legend gives off. Like I'm obsessed with the legend of king Arthur and Celtic mythology and basically old Romanish era England. It was just a weird time for all.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this, and I hope it sounds as good as I thought it did at 3 am when I finished this LOL.

I’d like to take you on a journey to a place you’ve doubtless heard of before. Of course you have, why else would you be here? You’ve visited this realm; have seen it countless times. A name is repeated throughout history and brings the present back to the past. A legend they say. A legend who did not exist.

But they are wrong.

Take a look around at the mists of this green world. The air is moist, and cool, and clear. The very air thrums with a mystery in the thickness of the trees. It’s a quiet that you’ve never heard, but there’s something under it; you mustn’t listen _too_ closely. In every direction there is no one around for miles.

An owl hoots in the trees above and the darkness encroaches. I’ll need you to be careful, for fairie rings are near, and you mustn’t step into them, lest you be lost to the little people. I won’t be able to help you if that happens.

Oh, did you hear that? The sound of laughter in the trees?

I think it’s time to move on now.

Now, if you were to continue on, you might see abandoned encampments. Strange runes drawn on stone walls and small things left behind as though in a rush. A rush is probably right. This is a Druid encampment, people of peace and magic. Dwindling down under the weight of king Uther’s reign. But we’ll get to him in a moment.

As we walk, we might get closer to a citadel or a village, maybe a patrol is passing by. But unfortunately, neither of us will be able to speak to them. Well, it’s unlikely. I know I can’t, but who am I to estimate your abilities? See, they speak another language, and it’s older than Shakespeare. If we were to wander in Shakespeare’s London, we’d probably get on fine. Might sound a bit loony, or drunk, but we’d probably be able to ask for the bathroom. Here though… not so much. I’d be surprised if either of us could read the signage posted anywhere. Honestly, I’d be surprised if the inhabitants of this land could read the signage either.

This world is familiar; we’ve seen it before, but it’s altogether different than the world we know. If we feel out of placing going back and taking a peek, imagine how someone here would feel waking up today?

Anyways, in the mists of this land abandoned by the Romans, the foundation for Great Britain is laid. A cruel King rises to power and rules through fear and hatred of the people of magic. The air that thrums in mystery cowers in his presence, for even that is not welcome. This is King Uther, remember? We mentioned him before.

A golden Prince is born, and he will unite the world of Albion with the help of the most powerful sorcerer, Emrys. Their friendship will grow, will be tested time and time again but in the end, they will win! Stand in the glory of Albion, a dream realized at la…

Oh, oh. I may have made a mistake. Please, ignore that.

On the banks of the lake of Avalon, you stand where King Arthur Pendragon died. There it is, rising out of the lake, the would-be saviour of the golden king. The tower in the centre looks down on you, solid and real. Was this the last thing the King saw before he died? Or was it a friend, sat above him in comfort?

With the King’s death, Albion falls. There is no one to unite it, and Emrys disappears without a trace.

But please, don’t cry, I’m not good at people crying. No there isn’t a need to cry, for the story is not over yet. No, my friend, Arthur pendragon will return when Albion is in its greatest need.

The story is not over.

* * *

The world is different. Arthur can feel it in the fabric of his clothes. The very dust mites seem to sing a mysterious song. One that he knows he’s heard a rendition of, but this is completely different from that. Blinking slowly, Arthur winces away from the light that cascades into the room through the sunflowery curtains. The window is open which allows a hint of sea breeze to waft into the room.

Lying flat, Arthur runs his hands up and down on the quilt covering his body. It’s well worn, threadbare in some spots, but soft nonetheless. He feels… cozy. It’s unfamiliar, and that nearly sets him on edge, but the comfort is entirely unwilling to let him go just yet. He continues running the blanket through his fingers, the motion relaxing his nerves. The juxtaposition of the cool breeze and warm blanket has Arthur sinking into the mattress once more.

He breathes a sigh. The curtains flutter in a gust of wind brought in from outside. They cast dancing yellow hues around the otherwise blue-grey room. A pleasant feeling spreads through Arthur’s body. This security and peace of mind is something he had only ever dreamed about.

Arthur stretches out and a dreamlike sense falls over him. It’s as though he had been asleep for a _very_ long time, and only now is he rejoining the land of the living.

Despite the utter peace, Arthur still manages to wonder where he is, and how he got there. He stretches his mind for moment and finds there is no past, and no sense of future. It is as though he only lives in this very moment. But this idyllic setting couldn’t possibly be real, it must be a dream. There’s a ringing of a bell in the distance, the sound drifting in from the window. It pulls Arthur out of his blissful stupor; he _doesn’t_ just exist now, and the air tells him the world is _different_. He must know more.

With great reluctance, Arthur unwinds himself from the blanket which is tightly knitted between cornflower and power blue hues. He notes that there are tiny gold flecks weaved sparsely through the blanket. Reaching down to touch it again, he is overrun with a sense of _familiarity_ , though he cannot imagine why. It’s just a blanket. He heads to the doorway and the panic he tells himself he should have felt from the moment he awoke hits him full force.

Any sense of security Arthur had is leached from him in seconds. This room, the work out nightgown he realizes he is wearing, and the very _air_ is unfamiliar. He can’t remember how he got here, can’t remember putting this on. He doesn’t know how he got to a place so close to the ocean he can taste the salt in the air.

The past that had previously been locked to him stands at forefront of his mind. With one push the door to this past will open and Arthur will have answers he’s sure. But something warns him that pushing forward will erase any peace he has left. He thinks on it for a moment but knows deep down that if there is danger lurking nearby, Arthur must know what to do. So, Arthur nudges to memory door open, and immediately regrets it.

At first, there’s only a battle. A boy-man stares him down, and a sword piercing through chain-link ripping into his flesh. The pain stabs his chest like the phantom of the boy-man is in the room with him. Arthur doubles over. He’s’ panting, trying to catch his breath when another image flashes in front of him. A woman stands above him, snarling at his imminent defeat. He knows that he loved her, even then, in some way. Her glory in his death _hurts_. She was something to him, and he doesn’t know what, but he knows that her angry, contorted face fills him so much anguish that he finds himself on the floor. He reaches for the comfort of the cornflower blue blanket, pulls it towards him and clutches it in his fist.

But the gold flecks glare mockingly at him. He remembers other gold flecks in cornflower blue. The truth that had been hidden from him; a lie. This one hurts so much he can’t focus on the specifics.

Arthur chokes, missing the sense of serenity that radiated into his fingers and toes. He wants nothing more than to replace the cold that has seeped into him as though through the open window, with the beautiful warmth. But he cannot stop remembering things now. His body aches with every pound of his heart and pushes memories into his consciousness. But there’s nothing specific, faces but no names. Actions but no context. How did he die? All Arthur can see is his life out of sequence. He’s an adult, then a child. He’s dying, and then being born. Every moment being shown to him makes him feel like he’s running through a briar bush naked. He needs Merlin.

_Merlin._

“Me-“ Arthur’s voice catches in his throat, quiet and scratchy. He tries again, “Mer _lin_ ,” he calls no louder than the first time. The phantom pain has reached sharp levels, the throbbing having subsided. He wants to crawl back into that bed and back into the ignorance before. Forget his life and start again. His grip on the blanket has tightened, and a faraway thought wonders if he could tear it through sheer pressure alone. His hands are white and trembling, a feeling that echoes in his chest as well, as though he’s caught a chill.

The memories are leading Arthur away to a distant place. The angry woman sometimes looks kind, speaks to him as though she too loved him once. He misses the smile when her face turns cruel once more. Then there’s another woman, beautiful and kind. This never changes, and while there is no pain seeing her, he’s just overwhelmingly sad. This woman he loved differently, not like the cruel woman. This woman was his wife.

Where is Merlin to pull him away from the pain and the sadness…

_Where are you Merlin? I need you, please…_

“-thur! Arthur, I’m here, I’m right here,” he hears from his faraway place. It’s Merlin, he’s here, and Arthur is relieved. But the memories don’t want him to return, not yet anyways. They grow more aggressive. An older man Arthur loved, dying over stretched out months. Arthur in anguish, watching but entirely unable to reach him. He doesn’t have the words it would take to bring the man back. This man he loves despite the horrors he’s seen from him otherwise, it hurts that he has no sway over this man’s heart.

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, come back,” and Merlin jostles Arthurs frame a bit, and Arthur surfaces, floating back to his only friend. The context is coming back to him as he stares at the man in front, the name grounding him. The familiarity supplementing lost names and actions. But Merlin is here, and that is what matters _right now._

He stares into cornflower eyes. The echo of the gold betrayal rises for a moment, but Arthur pushes it away. “Merlin,” he repeats, like it’s the only thing he knows. The cornflower man, Merlin, is close to him. So close, that Arthur can smell fire smoke and salt. Can feel the heat radiating from the other man’s body. Unconsciously Arthur leans closer to soak in the warmth.

The face of his friend is similar to what he’s always known, but not the same. The same youthful face from the gold flecked lie, but older still. _Sadder_.

Arthur finally ceases wheezing, the phantom pain ebbing away. There are tears on his face, and Arthur berates himself for it. But staring at Merlin, Arthur feels calmer. Merlin is holding Arthurs arms, but Arthur extracts one hand, bringing it cautiously to Merlin’s face. He brushes his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, the skin soft and crease free.

“Arthur,” Merlin chokes out.

An overwhelming sense of loss throws Arthur for a moment, he’s missed so much. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” says Arthur.

Merlin stares at him for a minute, maybe two. His eyes are watery, and Arthur knows his look the same.

“I’ve just missed you, so much,” says Merlin, who goes quiet before pulling Arthur into a hug. They sit there for a long moment, just together. Around them, the yellow curtains dance on the sunlight.

* * *

For a long time, Arthur only feels comfortable in his dreams. There, he can live in the world he knows. Camelot with its towering walls and tight knit marketplace. Sometimes it feels so real he can feel the cobblestone underfoot and the breeze brings a particularly gross smell from the residential roads. He sees his subjects and he sees his friends. Guinevere’s kind smile warms him. Morgana’s eyes are still open and inviting, giving him the impression that she’s teasing him about something or another.

When he wakes, he misses it. There’s a deep longing for the world he left behind in his chest. He looks forward to the moments when his dreams over take his reality. Besides, it’s not like he has any sort of kingly duties here.

Which might be why he’s starting go a little stir crazy. Merlin keeps him close to home most of the time. Not like there would be much for Arthur to go see. From what he’s gathered there’s hardly a living population on the island beyond some seals. Just to take a walk though would be nice.

After the first big emotional blowout, they haven’t really spoken. Arthur doesn’t know where to begin in starting a conversation. Not just about the current events, but everything he never got the chance to really…digest while he was dying. There’s so much he wants to understand about Merlin. But now Merlin is close lipped about practically everything, driving Arthur mad with loneliness.

Arthur wants to know about Merlin’s life. Had he stayed here all of this time? Had he explored the world? What was the world like? They were all things he wanted, and had, asked about. But Merlin just didn’t respond.

It's incredibly strange to Arthur. Only a few days ago, before Camlann, they were as they were always meant to be; a unit. Then even after Camlann, after Merlin revealed the truth and Arthur was dying, they were still a unit. Now it’s like Merlin can hardly stand to be in the same room as Arthur. When they do interact, Merlin is quiet, and secretive, never letting anything about his recent life slip. Out of everything in this new world, that’s what Arthur is having the hardest time adjusting to.

It leaves Arthur feeling alone. It also gives him loads of free time with absolutely nothing to do. Nothing but time to explore what he can inch by inch.

He starts out small. He looks through the room he woke in first. Checks every bookshelf and drawer. For what, he does not know. Perhaps only to stave away the boredom, or maybe to stop the questions he so desperately wants to ask Merlin far away from his mind.

He finds some things that really solidify the strangeness of this world. Arthur was literate, he was royalty, it was practically expected of him. The house is filled to the brim with books (one of the reasons Arthur believes Merlin is able to hide so easily from him). Arthur is also extremely bored. This should be a match made in heaven, yet, it is not. No, when Arthur picks up the first couple of books, he finds that while they aren’t impossible to read, they’re incredibly strange. He checks a few more and finds that they’re even worse. He leaf’s through ten, twenty, thirty books, and they’re all different forms of one language. Some of the have strange symbols, others strange conjugations and just words Arthur has never seen before. Arthur feels they’re probably based on the language he’s speaking right now, but they’re different enough that Arthur feels illiterate and dumb, and suddenly feels for the peasants of Camelot who were unable to read anything even then. Was it as isolating then as he feels now?

He leaves the books alone.

There are other things too though. The lights turn on when you tap on a thing on the wall; no fire necessary. Arthur doesn’t understand it and probably never will, and Merlin is hardly any help.   
There is a fireplace in the house, but Merlin hardly ever uses it for food. No, there’s a metal box in the kitchen that creates heat inside of it. There’s two actually: a smaller one sits on the counter, used for putting bread (thin, sliced, packaged bread) in to make toast. Out of everything, this one Arthur loves the most. Putting the bread in and waiting for it to pop aggressively is so much fun for Arthur, he finds himself eating several slices of bread a day and nothing else. God, Arthur is lonely.

Other than that, though, there’s not a lot of _different_ things in Merlin’s house, but Arthur knows there’s more out there; he hears it buzzing in the wind. He wants to see it all no matter how isolated it makes him feel. He’s curious in a way he never usually was about things that were different. None of this really feels like it could be dangerous, and it’s all so awe inspiring. People made this.

They also made books that made no sense, but Arthur is still amazed. 

Merlin leaves every once in a while and returns with food. It’s about once a week. During this time, the tension eases, which leaves Arthur imperceptibly sad. He’s spoken to no one since his return beyond Merlin, and the conversations are few and far between. But not having to walk on egg shells around each other in a small house gives Arthur time to be sad. Around Merlin, Arthur is covering how he feels, but when he’s gone, Arthur mopes. By the time Merlin returns, Arthur feels better.

By the end of the first month, Arthur feels like a monk. He’s tired of being ignored by his best and only friend. If Arthur was anybody else, maybe he would cry. But he’s King Arthur Pendragon, and he cries for no man.

So, when he wipes tears away from his eyes, he tells himself that he hasn’t actually cried. He’s still Arthur Pendragon even if everything else has been stripped from him. He won’t cry about it, not again.

* * *

To most, it would be surprising how level-headed Arthur is acting here. Sometimes he wishes that he could show Gwen, _Look, see how mature I’ve been, I’m not a prat_. He’ll laugh at himself again for a moment and get sad again. There are a lot of things he’d want to show Gwen right now.

The books being one thing. She’d have figured out how to read them by now. Arthur is still struggling a bit with the unfamiliar wording and spellings. Sometimes he snoops around looking for any of Merlin’s old spell books; Arthur assumes Merlin must have had some. He’s sure they’d be written in a way he’d understand. And maybe it would help him understand more than just to read again.

He still doesn’t _understand_.

Arthur tries to talk to Merlin. He really does.

“I can’t talk right now. I’m working on something.”

“It’ll be quick, it’s just a question about how-“

“Seriously, I don’t have time.”

Arthur doesn’t really know what Merlin is working on. He’s writing, at least that’s what Arthur assumes. Not long after Arthur woke up, he would see Merlin working on it. When it was open it looked sort of like a book if you ripped all the pages out of it. It was bulky and noisy, and Merlin spent much of the day at it, filling the house with a light tapping noise. Arthur knew that he was writing something, the bright front of the metal book was filled with the new and strange characters Arthur couldn’t understand in the books. But Arthur didn’t know how to ask Merlin what it was about. When he asked anything about it, Merlin would respond blankly, “I didn’t spend my entire life alone. I need to pay for this land somehow.”

Merlin never elaborated further on these points. Never explained the books stacked dangerously overhead. Never told Arthur anything.

It all drives Arthur mad. This is not to say that Merlin is unkind in any way, just distant. Almost non-existent. Arthur feels like Merlin is a ghost; something he can see but not interact with. Arthur misses Merlin, and it hurts more than anyone else he’s lost. It’s ridiculous, and Arthur berates himself constantly while watching Merlin go about his life. Merlin is alive, how could he miss him more than the dead?

The silence is going to make him go insane. He’s resorting to pacing inside the house. Arthur doesn’t understand why Merlin warned him from going outside, why he wants Arthur to stick around the house when he so blatantly ignores the blond prince. No amount of thinking can make Arthur understand Merlin, not on any field recently. So, Arthur rolls his eyes and decides to bugger it. When did he ever _really_ listen to Merlin anyways?

So, while Merlin taps away at the metal book, Arthur slips out the door into the sunlight. He doesn’t know if Merlin looks up, doesn’t know if Merlin goes to follow him. He doesn’t particularly care right now.

It isn’t that Arthur hadn’t gone _outside_ , it was just that he hadn’t left the small self-sufficient garden. The tomatoes growing up the trellis’s, and carrots popping just out of the ground makes Arthur smile as he passes. Wasn’t this his self-indulgent dream all those years? To live on a farm (this could barely be considered a farm, but Arthur ignores that) without any kingly responsibilities? To just exist off the land?

But Arthur knows that any version of that dream has to include Merlin. Arthur refuses to consider this ghost Merlin into his life right now.

Arthur heads past the little stone garden wall. It comes only mid waist and is crumbling away. Little flowers grow out the side of the cracks. It’s sweet, but altogether ineffective. Arthur wonders if maybe he could fix it up. Beyond the duties of a knight, a prince, or a king, Arthur really has no experience. But he could get experience; it would give him a purpose again.

So, Arthur decides at that moment, that once Merlin is real and whole again, he’ll begin.

There’s a little pathway and Arthur can tell it has rarely been used. Merlin must hardly have ever left, and he wonders if anyone even knows someone lives in this house; It looks like it’s practically falling in on itself. He walks along it and takes in the scenery. Rolling green hills stretch out in front of him. On every side the ocean traps them in, something Arthur has rarely ever experienced. Camelot was far inland, and he rarely travelled out to islands of any sort. Arthur finds he likes vast sprawling locations, places that you can’t even see the end of; This makes Arthur feel claustrophobic.

But it’s better than being inside.

Arthur continues, wind whipping his hair this way and that. It’s a cool day, and he regrets not having grabbed more than a “T-Shirt”. The clothing itself leaves his arms bare, something, again, he isn’t used to. But the fabric itself is thin and allows the wind to whip through it. Arthur _nearly_ turns back, but scoffs at himself. _Letting a little cold get to me now, eh?_

He scratches at the collar and continues. He reckons on his scale of new things, he’d put the clothing squarely in the _dislike_ category. He doesn’t like how unfamiliar they feel on his skin, scratchy and thin. And he doesn’t like how they look, missing the layering of his tunic, or his armor more by the moment.

On the hillsides Arthur can see little white dots; sheep presumably. There’s an outline, dark and grey, halting the swaying grass; it’s a wall. Arthur knew _somebody_ lived here beyond Merlin, but the sight of this wall makes him as giddy as he would feel coming across a kingdom after four weeks in the woods. He doesn’t run towards it, just continues his leisurely pace. This place honestly doesn’t look like it’s moved forward in time too much. Arthur want to know what it looks like now, he wonders if everything beyond this little island looks like the metallic boxes in Merlin’s house.

Maybe this is why Merlin is here, the timelessness. Though, it’s possible Merlin likes the new world. Arthur doesn’t know, because Merlin won’t tell him.

He continues down the road and is surprised to see a man standing in the middle of a field. A blond dog is yapping cheerfully while rounding the sheep into a pen.

“oi, easy there Skip, don’t scare em’,” the man laughs, and the sound runs toward Arthur. Arthur, just excited to see someone else for the first time in weeks almost runs down without question. Then, when he realizes what an idiotic, _Merlin_ thing to do that is, he stops.

Arthur knows that even though there’s someone here, someone he could go up and speak too, he can’t. It feels cowardly, but justified; he’s in an unfamiliar land, with no title, no sense of etiquette, and he feels like engaging in conversation with someone so different without any proper preparation would be walking into humiliation. Possibly even danger. Arthur doesn’t have a sword on his person, but he doesn’t know for certain the other has none. It’s unlikely this farmer could mean him harm, but again, Arthur doesn’t know what the culture is like. Could it be violent towards outsiders, like Cenred’s land? _Like Camelot’s?_

He can’t go up to this man and ask about the weather. If he can’t read the books, then how can he expect to hold a conversation with anyone without looking like a dunderhead.

And it fills him with so much anguish, because without Merlin, Arthur has no one. Without Merlin, all Arthur has is himself.

So, Arthur turns back, angry. He’s angry at Merlin for abandoning him, because that’s what it feels like. He’s angry at himself for becoming so _reliant_ on another person. So reliant that without Merlin’s friendship he is crumbling. He’s angry at all of the dead, for going ahead and dying, leaving him alone. Why was he alive now at all, when all else is gone? Without a friend, without a purpose?

The legacies that have changed the world to its unrecognizable state makes him angry for once, not just curious, because how could to world change so much he couldn’t even read a book based in his own language?

As he walks back to the house with a terrible heat in his chest, Arthur notices something in the distance on one of the highest peaks of the island. It’s a tower, a tower that most assuredly was not there earlier. It’s ghostly, but also incredibly _real._ Arthur gets the sense that if anyone else were here, maybe even Merlin, only Arthur would be able to see it. It’s striking that’s for sure, and also incredibly familiar. Arthur feels with every fiber of his being that he has seen this tower before. But not _really seen_ it. It’s at the forefront of his brain, the image of a tower, but then it didn’t look ghostly. No, it was more… watery.

Realization dawns on him like the thrust of the sword that struck him down. This is the Island of Avalon.

It honestly surprises him that he hadn’t realized this earlier. He had died on the shores across from Avalon, the tower in full view. And then he had spent a thousand years sleeping in a lake beneath Avalon… and then over time lake had become ocean and the world had changed and erased it. Wouldn’t his father be _proud_?

Arthur holds his head in his hands, and really considers just taking a seat in the grass to watch the tower that fills him with terror and something… else. Terror, and something warm. It feels a lot like comfort and rings in the same way that that hum telling him about the world does. It’s terrifying and infinitely comforting.

Arthur’s consideration takes affect and he sits in the green grass. Staring at the long dead tower of Avalon, Arthur Pendragon reminds himself that King Arthur Pendragon does not cry. That he is strong and does not cry for any man.

But the reminders don’t stop him. No, he cries for the death of his friendships and the death of his friends. But mostly, he cries for Avalon. He mourns for Avalon, dead without a trace, leaving Albion nothing but a fantasy. He should be glad that in the end everything his father worked for really just _happened._ That in the end sorcery is only alive in one recluse. But instead, Arthur is just sad. He can’t pinpoint why, not yet at least. His thoughts on sorcery are fraught, but it’s coming together, and soon he will understand.

Arthur knows it is time to talk.

* * *

“Merlin,” Arthur says as he enters the house again.

“Arthur,” Merlin looks up from the table, his face is gaunt. For the first time since returning Arthur sees that his friend doesn’t look…healthy.

“I think… It’s time to have a talk Merlin.”

Merlin looks at him, face blank. Then he shuts down, going back to what he was doing. The tapping of the keys seems much louder than they were before. “I don’t know why we would need to talk. Besides, I’m busy.”

“You know damn well why we have to talk, _Mer_ lin. I’m sick of you pushing me aside like I don’t matter to you,” Arthur says, nearly shouts. It was more aggressive than intended.

Merlin cuts back quickly, “Oi, you’re not a king, you can’t just shout at me how you want.”

“Well you don’t talk to me any other time. We are having this conversation.”

“No, I’m not doing this now,” Merlin says, eyes casted down to his metal book again.

The act infuriates Arthur, and he snaps, “Well, will you ever? Why is talking to me such a… such an… inconvenience to you? Lately I’ve been thinking, maybe it would have been better for all of us if I had of just died for real that day. Like I was meant to. Neither of us would be here,” Arthur takes a breath. The anger is flaring up, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop it.

He thinks of Gwen and cringes in pain. “I’d be dead, and you could go back to whatever it was you were doing before I showed back up and you had to start worrying about me again,” Arthur bites, it’s meant to hurt. Meant to hit low.

Merlin’s face is dark, “you weren’t meant to die. I could have saved you.”

“ _Well_ I died, didn’t I? there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d have lived.”

Merlin’s eyes narrow, “You’re here now.”

“By some, I dunno, divine intervention,” Arthur rolls his eyes and moves farther into the room. “No one is supposed to survive a wound like that. It’s honestly blasphemous my survival.”

“You aren’t no one though.”

“I was a king, not god. _You_ of all people know that.” Says Arthur pointedly.

“You were the saved by the goddesses of the old religion.” Merlin answers back just as pointedly.

Arthur laughs, “Ah, right, well that makes me feel loads better. The old religion, right,” he doesn’t quite know what he means by that, and regrets it, realizing where the conversation will steer.

Merlin’s head snaps up, and he glares at Arthur, “What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you were, I don’t know, okay with this,” he gestures to himself, and if Arthur is right, Merlin’s eyes flash gold for a second.

Arthur staves off a shudder and looks towards the fireplace. The fire is low, but he can feel the heat radiating from it. He sighs shoulders sagging, “Forget it.” He doesn’t want to get into _this_ right now. It’s still too much for him to think about in context of everything he’d ever learnt. Making peace before dying; that was easy. Living with the knowledge and accepting it? It was much, _much_ harder.

Merlin begins to stand, pushing his newspaper away. He leans haughtily in front of the table, arms folded over his chest, “No, if you have a problem, let me know. I don’t want you to _uncomfortable_ about a _sorcerer_ being around.”

“I don’t understand what I’m comfortable with, alright? I don’t know why I’m angry about it, I don’t know why I’m sad it’s all gone,” Arthur breathes. “I don’t understand why I can’t even think about you being… one.”

Maybe that was Arthur’s problem; the inability to reconcile the two sides.

“I was always told it was evil, Merlin. And then you were… are one, and I was dying. My best friend was something I hated, and I thought I moved past it. But I think, I was just dying,” Arthur stops, not sure where this honesty has come from.

But Merlin replies sarcastically, as though he had not heard Arthur’s soul pour from him, “Oh no, they just saved your life. How terribly evil.”

Arthur latches onto this jump in conversation. Sincerity is hard to do, aggression is much easier. He replies, “Well what was the bloody point Merlin? Can you tell me? Because I assure you, I have no clue.”

“Like I have any? You’re meant to Unite Albion, you’re alive to do that. That’s what you were brought back to do. Whatever it is that looks like.”

This again. Arthur rolls his eyes and spits out, “Oh, the same _grand destiny_ as before. Will you do me a favour this time? Let me know when one of my knights is going to run me through with a sword.” Arthur’s eyes widen for a moment, shocked by the words; He and Merlin both. His tongue burns. The two lapses into a tense silence for a moment. Arthur hesitates for a moment, and apology on his tongue. He leans forward to put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder but is cut off.

“You’re not how I remember, Arthur,” Merlin is leaned over the table away from Arthur, head bowed. And Arthur feels his heart throb for causing his friends pain. But also, he feels heat rise inside, angry at Merlin for not understanding. As though Arthur isn’t allowed to be hurt and angry about his own loss. He and Merlin used to be a _pair_ , who could just look at each other and _understand_. Time; the greatest divide.

“Yeah, well a thousand years is enough time to stretch out any memory. Or maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did,” it’s low. It’s untrue. And Arthur can’t help but feel satisfied as the words escape.

“Yeah, I guess not,” Merlin laughs bitterly under his breath.

“Weren’t you always the one who complained I was rude, and arrogant? You can’t claim I’m different if I’ve always been like this.”

“You weren’t always-“

“You just miss missing me-“ his accusation rolls off his tongue and he watches Merlin’s face turn a bright red.

“That is complete bollocks-“

“Now that I’m here you have nothing going forward.” Merlin interrupts, “Piss off, that isn’t true.” “It’s just me again, and I barely have some sort of grand destiny now.”

“Don’t say that. Never say that again. You don’t understand anything Arthur, absolutely nothing. As though my life has been a grand old adventure before you came back you absolute prick-“ Merlin’s voice is still low, and it infuriates Arthur. Even now Merlin is holding back, like he doesn’t want to engage with Arthur.

“It would be over and done.” Arthur interrupts. “I wouldn’t have to adjust to this new world, and we both wouldn’t have to pine over people who have been dead a hundred times over they were alive. Everyone I care about is dead Merlin. Everyone. Why are either of us standing here right now when they’re all gone!” shouts Arthur. “But no, instead we’re alive, and you’ve been chasing this destiny down for far too long.”

“God don’t I wish I had been dead sometimes? Like waiting wasn’t death in itself?” Merlin finally snaps and shouts over Arthur. “I waited _a thousand_ years and I _never_ ran toward you Arthur. I was running _away_ from you.”

It’s quiet. Arthur doesn’t know how to respond, “What?”

“I was running from you in every way possible. Does that make you happy, hearing the truth? The truth that your friend is an absolute coward, like you said,” Merlin’s voice cracks, tears pushing their way through his throat. Arthur takes a few steps forward so he’s standing next to Merlin, but Merlin doesn’t look toward him. He keeps his eyes down on the grain of the table.

Arthur falters, “I never said-“

“Yes, you did, and you were right,” Merlin voice is quiet. He moves away from Arthur, but with a purpose, coming to a stop next to his desk. “I thought I had come to terms with the lives I had forgotten. Thought I had accepted that I had made mistakes. But then all of a sudden you were back, and the drawings weren’t realistic, and I saw your eyes again and knew that _no_ judgement I could imagine,” Merlin slams through his desk drawers, throwing papers around the room. Portraits of his friends land ungracefully on the floor as Merlin continues his tirade, “-would _ever_ match up to what I did see.”

Merlin pulls out the last portrait. It’s of him, Arthur. The portrait was old, but the eyes were recently done. “I thought when I finished them, it was over. That I had understood that no one would hate me for what I had become. And I was right. You don’t hate me. You looked lost, but you also had that _spark_ in your eyes. That hopeful spark that just pulls people in,” Merlin pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing, “…and I just couldn’t bear it.”

“…I don’t understand,” Arthur begins.

“I ran from you because I lost hope. Life’s easier when you don’t have hope, I guess, because, you can’t get hurt when nothing comes of nothing.”

“But, Merlin,” Arthur moves to Merlin for a third time, actually reaching out to him and placing a hand on his shoulder, “I guess, I mean, shouldn’t you be happy about this? I’m here, no disappointment…” Arthur struggles for words, this isn’t really his strong suit. He wants desperately to comfort Merlin, but he just doesn’t have the words to do it. Nor does he have the understanding of what Merlin is feeling. “I want to understand Merlin, but I need you to talk to me, because I don’t get what you’re feeling.”

Merlin looks at Arthur, studies his face before glancing at the hand on his shoulder. He reaches up to it, placing his hand on top of Arthurs. Arthur is worried he’s about to push it aside, before he feels a strong grip. Merlin is staring at Arthurs face, and Arthur can read so much turmoil behind Merlin’s eyes. There’s a strong sense of déjà vu, he feels like he’s done something similar before; seen Merlin look upset seemingly without reason. Now Arthur knows Merlin always had a reason. But even then, when Arthur didn’t understand, he would dig deep to find _something_ to say that would make Merlin at least grin. He supposes he still doesn’t understand, but he’d do it again.

Arthur is pulled back to the present when Merlin takes a breath and squeezes Arthurs hand, still resting on Merlin’s own shoulder. “You’ll disappear Arthur, and I’ll be alone again. A thousand years of running never prepared me for the day I finally reached the end. I can’t do it again. Running, I mean,” he says, almost whispering the words.

Arthur, who has never been great with serious emotional moments, knows only one plausible way to move forward. “Well, you never were really good at that,” he laughs half-heartedly. It gets the desired effect. Despite Merlin’s teary cornflower eyes, the corners of his mouth lift. Arthur smiles back tenderly. “I’m not going to disappear. At least not in any foreseeable future, unless this very house swallows me up. Which now that I say it is becoming more and more likely every day,” still smiling, he lightly gestures to the books and papers stacked on the table. Merlin smiles wider, before it slips a little.

“Arthur,”

“Merlin,” Arthur removes his hand from merlin’s shoulder and takes both in his own, squeezing them reassuringly. “Why don’t we just sit down and talk. About nothing specifically if you don’t want. But I need for one thing to be normal again. I need my friend back,”

Merlin smiles, tears still in eyes, “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“Great.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope i didn't sound too pretentious or anything, i just love this show and the real mythology and everything. Thank you for making it to the bottom!


End file.
